Patience
by storylip
Summary: Yakov hopes he has enough patience to be there for Victor after this latest heart break. This scene happens right after To Follow Fate chapter 8, and will make no sense if you haven't read To Follow Fate.


A/N: This scene happens right after To Follow Fate chapter 8, and will make no sense if you haven't read To Follow Fate.

For Merlenyn.

This short (well, short for me) fic was prompted by part of Merlenyn's comment on chapter 8 from To Follow Fate and my muse just ate it up, and broke my heart all over again. It happens immediately following the end of that chapter. If you haven't read To Follow Fate, this won't make sense. *Spoilers from chapter 8* Thanks, Merlenyn, for the inspiration! Enjoy!

"How long before Yakov finds him? I could imagine if Victor refuses to leave the room and just wants to curl up in what's left of his mate's scent that eventually Yakov would have to come to him instead of Victor returning to Yakov." -Merlenyn

* * *

Yakov thought himself a patient man. He had developed the trait while he had navigated his international career as, first a skater and now, a coach. This was especially true with regards to his most promising student. Ever since Yakov had seen a seven-year-old Victor skating with the grace of someone three times his age, he had known the grey-haired child would be magnificent. The boy had had more potential than anyone Yakov had ever seen, and he had realized immediately that he had wanted to coach this child to reach past all limitations.

It had been a struggle to get the boy's parents' agreement for him to coach his new student, but he had had patience.

When the boy's earnings from minor competitions had gone missing, time and time again, Yakov had fronted entry fees and eaten coaching payments. He had even started to keep an eye on Victor's substantially lacking family life. When the boy's mother had disappeared for the seventh time in their first year of training together, Yakov had begun to let the boy stay with him. The absentee father would show up to competitions just to see if he would owe book on his son's competitions or not.

It had become such a pattern that by his charge's 10th birthday, Victor had a bedroom in Yakov's house complete with skating gear and school books. Lilia and he had helped their pupil file for official emancipation after Nikiforov Senior cleaned out Victor's winnings, stating that his son had "finally been worth something, after all."

It had nearly broken the boy. Yakov and Lilia had sat, many a night, soothing the crying child as he asked, "why don't they want me?" They had rubbed his back and held him close, tucking him back into bed when he had cried himself to sleep. They could not give him any true reassurances; hell, they did not even have any legal rights to protect him. And they would not, even when the bureaucracy finally got to his case.

It had only been last year, and the boy had been 16. It had taken the government years of delays before sending someone from the Alpha Development Bureau. And even then, it had only been after Victor had presented as an Alpha and winning some international acclaim for the paperwork to be official.

Now, here in Tokyo, Victor looked like a starved puppy. Yakov had seen it in desperate aquamarine eyes, eyes he had dried many times over the years, before their subtle agreement that Victor could search out the scent after his skate.

This was dangerous. More dangerous than a thug or two stopping by the rink looking for Nikiforov Senior. More dangerous than the first night Yakov had brought Victor home after finding Mrs. Nikiforov unconscious and sending for an ambulance. More dangerous than a fan or two flaunting their scent to get the teen's attention.

Victor was his to protect, even if the boy, now a young man, disobeyed him off the ice. Victor was his to build up after those beautiful eyes cried. Victor was his to guide, as he had been since that fateful day watching the seven-year-old's grace on ice.

But Yakov could not protect him from this. Following his student's mad dash after a nearly imperceptible scent, he knew he would have to build the boy up once more. Yakov would have to teach Victor to harden his heart against this pain, like he had tried to shield the boy as long as they had known each other.

He had tracked Victor to the arena's emergency first aid center. Somber faced nursing staff had met his gaze when he walked in. After he'd described his student, they had quietly led him through the main room and down a short hall to a small room.

That was where Yakov had found Victor, laying crumpled on the examination table, tears staining his face, asleep after crying himself into oblivion. Throughout the room, the faint hints of ice, sweet peas, and lemongrass clung to the walls, the furniture, and the small blanket held tightly to Victor's chest.

Yakov knew he had to protect his son once again from a broken heart. He only hoped he had enough patience.


End file.
